


A Very Rarepair Holiday: SFW Edition

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Rarepair, light - Freeform, most of these are pairings but some tend toward more gen, one shots, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: These are fics for my friends in the rarepair discord server. They are all lovely people whom I've had a great time getting to know. I wrote as many requests as I possibly could. There is also a NSFW edition for spicy requests.Chapter 1: Ashe/Flayn (Lala)Chapter 2: Claude/Lorenz (Banaly)Chapter 3: Cyril/Ignatz (Doop)Chapter 4: Dedue/Lorenz (multiple people)Chapter 5: Edelgard/Hubert (Anon)Chapter 6: Felix/Jeritza (Kayn)Chapter 7: Ignatz/Marianne (Koda)Chapter 8: Leonie/Linhardt (anon)
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Flayn, Cyril/Ignatz Victor, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Jeritza von Hrym, Leonie Pinelli/Linhardt von Hevring, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Dedue Molinaro, Marianne von Edmund/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	1. Ashe/Flayn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn caught a fish! But she has no idea how to cook it. Luckily, she runs into Ashe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Lala! I have never written Flayn before so I hope you like this.

Ashe had just sprinkled salt over the vegetables sizzling in the pan when Flayn entered the kitchen with a trout in her mouth. She spit it unceremoniously onto a cutting board and grinned at Ashe.

“Look what I caught!” she said.

Ashe's spatula hung over the pan, frozen in surprise. “I, uh, I see...” 

“It's a trout,” she said, gesturing at the still dripping fish. “Isn't it amazing? A huge juicy trout. Oh, I do hope everyone will enjoy it.”

“Do you... do you intend to cook it?” Ashe asked, fearing the answer.

“Why, yes,” Flayn said. “Naturally!” 

“Do you... know how?” Ashe said.

Flayn blinked, placing a finger under her chin. “Well, I hadn't really considered that.”

Ashe removed his pan of vegetables from the heat on the stove, setting it aside for now. “May I help you?”

Flayn straightened. “Oh my, that would be marvelous.” She practically sparkled with enthusiasm. “I presume our first step will be to put the trout in a pan, so I will just--”

He caught her by the wrist before she could skip away. “Not quite. Hang on a minute. There's a couple steps before the actual cooking.”

“Before?” She rubbed at her chin again. “My, this business of cooking sure is complicated. Who knew there were so many steps besides the actual cooking?” 

Ashe did, in fact, know that there were steps besides cooking and precisely how many, but he thought it better not to mention that just then. Instead, he set about getting Flayn an apron and cutting board. He helped her wield the large knife she needed for dressing the fish and removing its delicate bones. 

“This is quite a lot messier than I imagined,” Flayn said. “And so many bones! No wonder one must be so careful. It seems quite precarious to swallow these.”

Ashe decided not to respond to that, but Flayn narrowed her eyes at his silence.

“You knew,” she said. Pink bloomed in her cheeks. She jerked back, looking up at Ashe with wide, accusing eyes. “Oh my, I must have seemed such a fool when I proposed cooking the fish whole. Ashe, you must not let me sound so foolish ever again. Please!”

“It's really no big deal,” Ashe said. “Everyone learns their own way.”

“No,” Flayn said, stomping her foot. “Utterly unacceptable. I demand you instruct me in the proper way of things immediately.”

“Well, sure, but first could we--”

“We will commence cooking lessons this instant,” Flayn declared. Her gaze drifted off. “We ought to start with simpler dishes, ones with little chance of error. Then we shall work toward more difficult cuisine. Yes. That should be the way of it.”

Her eyes snapped back to Ashe, who flinched under the intensity of her stare. 

“I will meet you here every Wednesday afternoon,” Flayn said. “It's settled.”

With that, she spun on her heel, leaving Ashe with the gutted, uncooked fish. “Settled?” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	2. Claude/Lorenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Lorenz go camping. And Lorenz hates every second it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Banaly, who is so sweet and kind and nice to chat with. I hope you enjoy this silly camping trip.

Lorenz winced as leaves crunched beneath him. The ground was so horribly soft, damp muck giving way beneath his clean boots. 

Claude marched ahead, heedless of the mud that splattered up his shoes when he leapt over a tree trunk. He turned, extending a hand. “Come on, Lorenz. Almost there.” 

Lorenz sneered, picking his way among the hummus of the forest floor. He paused at the tree trunk. It was as high as his waist and furry with moss. 

Claude waved his hand. “Come on. I'll help you.” 

Still Lorenz hesitated. He wasn't sure which was worse, the way his clothes would be soiled by climbing over the tree or the ordeal of taking Claude's bare hand and pretending it didn't send a shock through his whole body. Damn the roguish grin on Claude's face, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes, the way one cheek dimpled when he grinned so earnestly. 

Lorenz set a shaky hand in Claude's. Claude pulled and Lorenz had no choice but to grapple against the tree trunk and throw his leg over it. He whined at the scrape of the dirty bark against his crisp white jeans. When he made it back to the ground, a rainbow of stains arched from one thigh to the other. And Claude was still holding his hand.

Lorenz jerked free, embarrassment and anger conspiring to splash his face with rose-colored highlights. 

“This will never come out,” he despaired.

“Well, you shouldn't be wearing white on a camping trip,” Claude said. He was dressed far more practically in plain jeans and an old T-shirt of some band or other. A hoodie was tied around his waist. The drab attire somehow made the man himself all the more charming, like a diamond shining among lesser rocks. 

“It'll be worth it,” Claude said with a wink and once more Lorenz found himself following, tromping through the brush and muck of the forest. “It'll be worth it” had been the exact justification Claude had used to get Lorenz to agree to the excursion in the first place and, goddess take him, it still worked. 

Lorenz cursed himself as they wound down a trail that snaked between the boughs. Pine needles softened the ground, announcing the clearing that opened before them. 

“We're here,” Claude said, spreading his arms wide as though introducing a palatial summer cottage. Where there ought to have been stately columns and marbled facades, there were instead trees, trees and more damn trees. Cool gauze drapes were replaced by a canopy of leaves; a mosaic of tiles was instead a bit of dirt more firm and dry than the rest. 

“Well, do you love it?” Claude said. 

“I...” 

“Didn't I say it'd be worth it?” Claude threw a pack and bag on the ground, immediately setting to work rolling out the stakes for a tent. 

Lorenz set his backpack on the ground, his despair growing with each heartbeat. 

“First we'll need to get this tent set up,” Claude said. “Then we can think about making some food. Oh! But don't let me forget to show you the _really_ special thing about this place.”

Special? What about this gods forsaken pit could be special? Lorenz peered at the dappled green and brown all around, feeling the shadows of the forest closing in as the sun sank. 

“We don't have a lot of time before it's dark,” Claude said. “Help me.”

Lorenz set himself to the task of getting stakes set in the ground, following Claude's instructions as they erected the tent. It was dismally small and smelled like rain. Was this really where he'd sleep tonight? 

Claude took him by the shoulder. “Hey, you doing alright?” 

“I... It is...” What could Lorenz possibly say that wouldn't be worse than an insult? It was clear how much Claude loved this, clear how genuinely excited he was to show it off to Lorenz. But Lorenz thought there were few places he wouldn't rather be instead.

“Look, I know,” Claude said. “It's not your thing. But _trust me._ ”

If each individual atom of Lorenz's being could scream in protest, they would have then. And despite their cries, despite the soggy stain on his pants, despite the bugs buzzing around his head and the smell of rain and the awful looming shadows of the trees, Lorenz nodded. “I trust you.”

Claude's grin was a beam of sunlight piercing through the gloom. He took Lorenz by the wrist, pulling him back into the forest. 

“Wait,” Lorenz said. “Where are we going? What about our things?” 

“They'll be fine,” Claude said. “There's no one around but us. Who's gonna steal it?” 

_No one around but us._ It echoed through his body, pulsing alongside his heart. 

They did not go far this time, only a few steps past the campsite. And suddenly the world opened before Lorenz.

The forest dispersed in a gasp, the trees shying away from the cliff edge that rolled away from them. Claude and Lorenz stood at the precipice of a steep decline; a boulder jutted out into the empty space below them. 

And in the expanse of stillness, Lorenz could see the whole forest, a quilt of mottled green and gold and brown as fine as hand woven silk. It rolled out over the world, shifting, breathing, alive. Birds burst up between the trees, speckling the canvas before him. As he watched, the world yawned, drawing in a huge, gasping breath. The trees tensed; the wind gathered, a tidal wave rearing up. When it finally broke, crashing between the trees, it was terrifying and lovely. An orchestra of wind gusted through the boughs, howls eventually subsiding to sighs and whispers. 

The wind passed. The forest stilled. The birds resettled among the branches. 

Claude was still holding his hand. 

“What do you think?” he said, whispering in the wake of the performance they'd just witnessed. 

“It's... lovely,” Lorenz said. 

Claude smiled, soft as the starlight just beginning to pinprick the sky. “See? I told you.” 

Lorenz might have felt indignant and defensive were it anyone else. As it was, he turned to the man beside him, bringing his hand up to Claude's cheek. Claude leaned into the touch and Lorenz pressed close, testing his lips against Claude's. They stood atop the bluff, holding each other in the wake of the wind storm, their lips and cheeks chapped from the gust. And dirty and tired and skeptical though he was, for that moment, Lorenz felt utterly at home.

“Come on,” Claude said when they broke apart. “We should finish setting up the camp.”

They returned to their campsite hand in hand. Claude left Lorenz to start unrolling his sleeping bag. And that's when cold dread plummeted into Lorenz's stomach. 

“Oh please no,” Lorenz said.

“What is it?” Claude said.

“I... I did not think... I didn't know...”

“You don't have a sleeping bag?” Claude said.

Lorenz shook his head miserably. 

Claude laughed behind his hand. “Guess we'll just have to share then, huh?”

This time, the storm that gusted went straight to Lorenz's cheeks, brushing them crimson. “I... I suppose we will.” 

Claude swaggered over to Lorenz, tugging him toward the tent by his wrist. “Come on,” he said. “I've got more to show you.”

And once more, Lorenz found himself following, helpless to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	3. Cyril/Ignatz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignatz admires the college newspaper's star reporter from afar... until Cyril strolls right up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Doop, who is a wonderful writer and a wonderful rarepair leader. My life literally wouldn't be the same if Doop hadn't scooped me up and dropped me into that server. Thank you for your unflagging kindness and beautiful fics!

Ignatz peeked over the top of the newspaper. Someone exited a door across the room, notebook in hand, and melded into the flow of students rushing to classes, lounging on chairs or balancing books in their arms. 

“Who's that?” 

Ignatz yelped as Raphael sat beside him on the couch in the center of the hall. He hadn't heard the large man approach, but that wasn't surprising in the cavernous room. The chatter of college students bounced around the high, domed ceiling, creating a haze of noise. 

“Who?” Ignatz said. 

“That guy you were looking at,” Raphael said.

“I-I-I wasn't looking at anyone.”

Raphael laughed, a boom that rose above the cacophony. “No need to be embarrassed about it.” 

Ignatz thought there absolutely _was_ good reason to be embarrassed about pining after the talented, brilliant, handsome star reporter of the college's newspaper, but he kept that to himself. “No one,” he said. “I was just reading the school paper.”

“Upside down?”

Ignatz felt his cheeks flush as he looked at the newspaper in his hands and hastily righted it. 

“Hey, listen,” Raphael said, “I'm not here to judge you. I was just curious about who could have caught your eye like that.” 

Ignatz fussed with the newspaper, fumbling to refold it as his cheeks burned. That's when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Ignatz squeaked, jerking.

“Sorry,” someone said behind him. “Didn't mean to startle you. You're that guy from my lit class, right?”

Ignatz willed himself to remember how to breathe before he slowly turned and found Cyril behind him. He held a notebook in one hand and had a pencil tucked behind his ear. He was the picture of the diligent reporter Ignatz had admired from afar, but suddenly he was close, all too close.

“Y-yes,” Ignatz said.

“What was your name again? I'm Cyril, by the way.” He extended a hand.

Ignatz's fingers quivered as he accepted the handshake. “Ignatz.”

“Ignatz, that's right,” Cyril said. “So, hey, this might seem abrupt, but I was on my way to a story and my photographer is AWOL. I saw you across the room. You're always reading the paper, and I know you do some photography. This is totally last second, but could I bribe you to come with me and snap a couple photos? I just need two or three good ones to go with the piece. Please, I'll buy you a drink off campus or something.” 

Ignatz blinked rapidly. “Go with you?”

“Yeah,” Cyril said. “It's just some fundraiser or something. Super simple job. I swear, it won't take half an hour.” 

Ignatz merely stared, his mouth agape. Raphael nudged him, knocking him back down to reality. “I... I don't have my camera.” 

“There's one in the newspaper office you can borrow,” Cyril said. “It's just downstairs. What do you say?”

Another nudge from Raphael, damn the man's utter lack of subtlety. 

“OK,” Ignatz heard himself say.

Cyril beamed, his face even brighter than usual. “Great, let's go!”

#

Ignatz still had no idea how he'd ended up here in the performance hall, a camera in hand, Cyril squeezing his shoulder and introducing him as “my photographer.”

_My photographer._

It had a ring to it that echoed in Ignatz's chest, making it fill with fluttering wings. 

“How about over there?” Cyril said.

A group in suits gathered before a blank wall at Cyril's instruction.

“Yeah, that should do it,” Cyril said. “Iggy, how's that shot look to you?”

 _Iggy._ No one had called him Iggy in years, not since the boy he'd secretly dated in high school. He raised his camera, trying to hide the pink in his face by lining up the shot. 

“Any good?” Cyril said, and there he was again, right at Ignatz's shoulder, his breath dusting Ignatz's hair. 

“Y-yeah,” Ignatz managed. He swallowed hard before snapping a few shots, praying his hands were steadier than they felt. 

“Lemme see,” Cyril said. 

Ignatz flipped through the photos. More than one was blurry, but a few of the others were passable, he thought.

“That one!” Cyril said. “Go back. Yes. That one. Perfect. Come on, we need one or two more, then you're free of me. I promise.”

Ignatz dared not voice how little he wanted to be free of Cyril, instead just following in his wake as he flitted through the fundraiser, chatting up speakers, jotting notes in a swift scribble, lining up more shots for Ignatz. 

“I think that's it,” Cyril said an hour into the exercise. “Took a little longer than I expected, but we got some great stuff. You're a really talented photographer. Have you ever thought about working for the paper?” 

“W-w-working...”

“I'll be honest, a lot of it is boring stuff like this. We're a school paper, after all, but every once in a while you get a real good one. And the experience never hurts.”

“I... I haven't thought about it.”

Cyril clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you should. You have a great eye for it. Plus, we'd get to work together more.”

Ignatz's mouth fell open as though trying to release some of the steam fogging up his face. 

“We make a good team,” Cyril said easily. “Don't you think?”

Ignatz nodded. Cyril's hand was still on his shoulder. He squeezed, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. 

“So about that drink,” Cyril said. His voice lowered and he leaned closer to Ignatz. “I know I said we could go to a bar off campus, but I've got a pretty good stash right in my room.”

“W-w-w-what?”

“To be honest,” Cyril said, “I get the impression we'd both enjoy that more. Call it a reporter's intuition, if you will.” 

Reporter's intuition. But Ignatz was already nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	4. Dedue/Lorenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorenz summons Dedue to his estate. Dedue presumes he wants him to fight off bandits, but Lorenz has something else in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Deduenz for the server in general. I know a ton of people in the rarepair discord love this pairing so I tried to do something sweet and cute for them.

Dedue clasped his hands, shifting his feet as he waited in an echoing entrance hall. The ceiling arced high overhead, mirroring the tiles on the floor that splayed out in a mosaic of a tree with golden leaves. Marble columns flanked the hall, ending before a sweeping stairwell carpeted in red. It was altogether gaudy. Dedue felt like a stone accidentally kicked inside this glittering, gleaming room of red and gold. 

Steps echoed through the hall as Lorenz paced down the stairs in tall purple boots. His hair was swept artfully to one side, draping against his black cape. The sunlight streaming through the windows shimmered along the gold embroidery edging the cape. 

“Dedue,” Lorenz said as he reached the landing. “How good of you to come.” His boots clacked against the tiles. 

“Hm,” Dedue said.

Lorenz stopped before Dedue, setting his hands on his hips. He smiled, but Dedue caught his eyes appraising Dedue from his sturdy, functional travel boots to his hardy jacket and the simple insignia sewn over the breast, the single adornment he wore. 

“I hope your journey was pleasant,” Lorenz said.

Dedue merely nodded.

“Would you like water? Wine? Perhaps we might sit and talk.” 

“Did you summon me here for some purpose?” Dedue said.

“Well,” Lorenz said. “Of course. But we needn't be so gauche about it.”

He started away, leaving Dedue little choice but to follow. They passed out of the hall and into a, thankfully, smaller room. A long table filled this room. Lorenz sat at the head and gestured for Dedue to settle beside him. A butler appeared as though melting out of the shadows and spoke softly at Lorenz's side.

“Yes, the ginger tea, if you would,” Lorenz said.

“Very well, sir,” the butler said, hurrying away.

Silence followed in the butler's wake as he bustled from the room. Dedue waited, his hands in his lap. Lorenz merely watched him and Dedue began to wonder if the summons had been some sort of strange jest.

“The matter at hand,” Dedue finally said.

Lorenz sighed. “Direct as ever.” 

“Yes,” Dedue said.

“Well, if you insist,” Lorenz said. “I have a matter that you are singularly suited to assist me with.”

“Yes,” Dedue said. “You said as much in your letter, but you did not describe the task”

“Why, that would ruin the fun, Dedue.”

“Hm,” Dedue said. 

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “You and Dimitri must be quite the pair, off in that castle together.” 

“If you need help with a threat to your territory--”

Lorenz grimaced. “It is nothing so unsavory.”

“Then what?” Dedue said. “Please.”

The butler returned, setting down teacups and pouring steaming ginger tea into each. Ginger was Dedue's favorite, but he assumed that was merely coincidence. 

Lorenz breathed in the steam curling off his cup. “Thank you, Bartholomew.” The butler retreated with a bow. 

“Lorenz,” Dedue said.

“Yes, yes,” Lorenz said. “If you must have it so plainly, I would like your help with the gardens.”

Dedue froze, his cup midway to his lips. He set it back down carefully. 

Lorenz was laughing behind his hand. “Why, Dedue, I've never seen you so flustered! Have I startled you so?” 

“I...”

“You expected to be thrown at some bandits or brigands, I presume,” Lorenz said. “Your talents are wasted there. I want your assistance with a far more delicate task.”

Dedue finally recovered from his surprise. “But why me?” 

Lorenz's smile was soft and sincere this time, devoid of laughter. “I told you, you're singularly suited to the task, my friend. You know more about plants of all sorts than anyone I've ever met. You have a delicate touch and a keen eye. Your knowledge runs deep and your love deeper. There is no one better suited to assisting me in this.” 

Dedue took a sip of the tea to help ease his shock. 

“I know the unkind things people say of you, and of Duscar,” Lorenz said. “They are gravely mistaken. It is a terrible waste, and cruel besides. I would put your true talents to work, if you'd agree to it. You are an artist, Dedue, and I am a great lover of art.” 

The tea helped ease the lump in Dedue's throat. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Lorenz smiled wider. “Does that mean you agree? You'll help me?” 

He'd have to write to Dimitri, ensure his absence wouldn't cause undo burden on the king. But... “Yes,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	5. Edelgard/Hubert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard wakes from a nightmare and Hubert is there to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This request came from anon so I hope you enjoy, whoever you are!

Footsteps like thunderclaps, rumbling nearer every moment. Footsteps like the gasping vacuum left in the air after a lightning strike, like a void of darkness that drank up light, like a fist to the chest, pounding, pounding, pounding. 

Edelgard knew they would reach her soon. She could feel their footsteps trembling through the stone. 

The door opened and a cut of light slashed into the cell. Edelgard saw their hulking forms shuffle into the bleak room, but they were mere shadows oozing against the walls, their faces indistinct blurs. 

She felt her breathing scatter like marbles across the stone, trying to flee from her lungs in quick gasps. She knew what came next, knew all too well. Edelgard tried to struggle before it began, but her arms and legs refused to obey her desperate commands. 

Then a red glow lit a gloved hand and her whole body seized up. The light lanced through her like knives from a thousand different directions. Edelgard tried to scream, but managed only a whimper. The light pulsed; each time it flared bright she convulsed anew, fresh pain burning through her blood. Her screams were gasping whimpers, pathetic little rasping wheezes. 

“Please,” she begged. “Please, please, pl--”

#

“--ease.”

She was still whining when she awoke. A gloved hand held her shoulder. A shadowed figure loomed over her. 

Edelgard screamed in earnest, her voice emerging at last, and scuttled away from the figure in the dark. 

“It's me,” Hubert said. He stood back as she scurried back in her bed, pulling her sheets up around her. 

Edelgard blinked the sleep from eyes. As her vision adjusted to the dark, she made out the tall, slim figure of her closest friend and sighed in relief. 

“Hubert,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you yelling, my lady,” he said. He sat cautiously at the edge of her bed.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Just a dream.” 

“I know.” 

She paused. He did know. Always. Every time the familiar nightmare stole into her dreams, Hubert was always there to shake her awake, to drag her back to the present. A present where she wasn't a scared and abandoned little girl anymore but the emperor of Adrestia. A present where she wasn't being experimented on in some dank basement, where she was safe, powerful, in control.

Except at night. Except in her dreams. 

“My lady,” Hubert said, his already quiet voice even softer in the dark. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No,” she said. “No, I'm fine.” 

“Very well.”

He started to stand, but she grabbed his wrist. Hubert paused, looking down at where her hand gripped him, but he did not pull away. And because he'd always been there, because he knew her so well, because his was always the hand waking her from the nightmares, he did not make her ask before he sat back down on the bed.

He offered his hand, but she tugged off his glove before she'd take it. He flinched when she wrapped his scarred and calloused hand in hers, but she needed this contact, if only just for now. How many of these scars and callouses, these rough edges beaten between the creases of his fingers--how many were her fault? How many had he suffered obeying her orders? All so no one would suffer as they had.

“Do you remember when we were children?” she said. “You had to sleep in my bed so many times on nights like this.”

He nodded in the gloom, a shadow among shadows, a sliver of warmer darkness in the night. 

“I've put you through so much, old friend,” Edelgard murmured.

He reached up, wiping away a tear, and only then did she realize she was crying. 

“I am happy to serve, my lady,” Hubert said. “We are building a better world. A more just world.”

“Gods willing,” Edelgard said. 

“Not the gods,” Hubert said. He sneered around the word “gods” and clasped her hand more tightly. “The gods' blessings were never meant for ones such as us. We forge our own path. Gods be damned.”

She smiled, just a little. She could have been a little girl again, huddling in the dark with her only friend there to comfort her, there to assure her she _was_ strong enough, no matter how much they took from her. 

All at once, she shuffled forward, impulsively wrapping him in a hug, putting her head against his chest. His warmth enveloped her like a shield deflecting the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. Eventually, he put his arms around her. And there they stayed, fending off the past in each other's strong embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	6. Felix/Jeritza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix defeats the death knight and takes it upon himself to watch over his recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Kayn. You are such a kind and welcoming person. I hope you enjoy. This was definitely a weird pair to try to get together haha

It took one swing to knock the Death Knight off his horse and a second to send him toppling to the ground. 

Felix clicked his tongue. “Disappointing,” he grumbled as he stood over the felled Death Knight, one boot on his armored chest, his sword pointed at an exposed sliver of throat. “Will you yield or must I dirty my blade?” 

The Death Knight did not respond. Felix shoved him with a foot but his body was limp. Felix tsked again. _Weak._

“Felix,” Dimitri said. He ran up, breathless and flushed, his one eye going wide when he realized what lay beneath Felix's heel. 

Immediately, he started calling for aid and soldiers swept in to tie up the Death Knight and bundle him off to their base. Dimitri slapped Felix on the shoulder. “Excellent work.”

Felix shrugged off the touch. “Whatever,” he said, stalking away.

#

The Death Knight, as it turned out, was the wholly ordinary man they'd first known as Jeritza. Felix's blows had left him with impressive injuries, impressive enough that they had to leave him in the infirmary before they could question him.

Felix took it upon himself to guard the Death Knight as often as he could. If the beast recovered unexpectedly he could wreak havoc on their base before anyone even realized what was happening. 

It was a dreary, dull duty, but Felix frankly didn't trust anyone else with it. Sylvain was too flighty, Dimitri too intent on revenge, Ashe too forgiving and Ingrid too severe. He might trust Dedue, but that would require him to extract the man from Dimitri's side, and that was unlikely to occur. Annette was too scattered and Mercedes... well, Mercedes seemed absolutely terrified of getting anywhere near the man for reasons she refused to explain.

And so that left Felix to sit in the infirmary as the gloom cast a pall over the room, draping it in gauzy gray shadows. 

Jeritza roused, groaning as he woke. “Where?” he croaked.

“Same place you were last time you woke up, beast,” Felix said. 

He snapped his head toward Felix and seemed to regret the motion from the pain that flashed across his face. “You,” he said.

“Me,” Felix said. He crossed his arms, glaring through the dark at Jeritza. 

Jeritza sighed, struggling to sit up in the infirmary bed. “Why do you watch me so?”

“Because you're a beast and you need watching,” Felix said.

“Well,” Jeritza said, but he did not argue further. After a moment, he said, “Might I have some water?”

Felix paused, wondering if he ought to honor the request. He watched Jeritza the entire time he went to the pitcher and filled a glass. His eyes scanned for sudden movement when he presented Jeritza with the glass, but the Death Knight merely accepted it and started drinking. 

“Ah,” Jeritza said. “Thank you. I was quite parched.”

“Hm,” Felix said.

“You know, I always thought you were a fine swordsman,” Jeritza said, “even as a student.”

“I was,” Felix said. “And I am.” 

“Indeed.” 

Felix nearly jumped up out his chair when a cat leapt onto Jeritza's bed and started nuzzling against his hand. When had the damn creature even entered the room? 

“Oh,” Jeritza said. He lifted his hand and the cat butted its head against his palm. Jeritza started stroking its back, gradually gaining confidence as though learning how to pet a cat right there and then. It was... almost endearing. Felix forced a scowl back onto his lips. _Absurd._

The cat settled on Jeritza's lap, purring contentedly, then looked to Felix as though accusing him of negligence for not also petting it. 

“It likes me,” Jeritza said.

“Swell,” Felix said. 

“Are all such creatures so good natured?” he said.

“How should I know?” Felix snapped. 

“Well, why do you not pet it and find out?”

Jeritza's question seemed genuine, but it still took Felix aback. He blinked, grateful the dark hid the frustration warming his cheeks. “What?” 

“It seems to like you, too,” Jeritza said. He waved at the cat in his lap. 

Despite himself, Felix sat on the bed. It was a chance to get close to his enemy, he told himself. A chance to inspect the man's weaknesses. 

The cat rose, swaying between them, alternating between their hands before curling up on the bed. Its purrs rumbled through the mattress, loud in the still infirmary. 

“My,” Jeritza said. 

“What?” Felix said. When he looked up, he saw something glistening on Jeritza's cheek. Jeritza rubbed at the tear, studying his damp finger in surprise.

“Are you _crying_ about a _cat_?” Felix said.

“I believe the cat is only a metaphor,” Jeritza said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Jeritza shrugged. 

“This is so stupid,” Felix muttered.

“Is it?” Jeritza said. “Why then do you continue to do it?”

“Excuse me?” 

“You are here quite often,” Jeritza said. “If there is no practical reason, I must presume you enjoy my company.”

Felix jolted to his feet. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Jeritza merely shrugged. Felix could feel his mouth trying to carve a crevice into his face, even as his cheeks heated. 

“I enjoy your presence as well,” Jeritza said.

“You'll enjoy my blade if you keep speaking,” Felix said.

Jeritza pondered this, rubbing a finger on his chin. “Ah, yes, I think once I'm recovered a duel would be quite fun.”

“What?”

“A duel,” Jeritza said. “I would enjoy a rematch very much. You are skilled with a blade.” 

“I--” Felix floundered for words. Was this guy serious? Did he understand the position he was in? 

“If you win,” Jeritza said, “I will join your cause.”

Felix furrowed his brows. “Why would you do that? Why would you abandon everything you were working toward?”

“For the thrill of the battle, of course,” Jeritza said. “How else might I express my appreciation?”

 _Words,_ Felix thought. But no, that wouldn't do. Not for someone like Jeritza, or someone like him. 

“Very well,” Felix said, crossing his arms and drawing himself up. “Heal quickly and you'll have your duel, but I won't fight you again until you're fit to give me a proper challenge.” 

Jeritza smiled. “Yes, well, it shall prove a worthwhile conversation, I am sure.”

Felix tsked, even as a smile tugged at his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	7. Ignatz/Marianne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne spots Ignatz painting while she's tending the horses. She believes he's painting one of the steeds and gets a surprise when she spots his canvas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Koda. What a cute concept. I hope you like what I did with it.

Marianne brushed through chestnut hair. Sunbeam gave a contented whinny, nuzzling her hand as she continued to smooth its silky coat. She'd finished with mucking the stalls, checking shoes and tidying up saddles long ago. All the usual stable chores were completed. This was something extra, something just for her. Stroking the horse's mane, brushing all the hairs until they lay flat and neat like burnished copper was as soothing for Marianne as for the horse. 

Even so, eventually Sunbeam got hungry and meandered away from her touch. She patted her flanks. “Thank you, girl,” she murmured. “We had a good morning, didn't we?” 

The horse snorted as though in agreement and Marianne left the stall. The stable was open, letting sunlight stream in to shimmer off the coats of the horses resting or nibbling. Marianne knew and loved each and every one. She addressed them by name as she paced down the stalls: “Shadow, Admiral, Emblem, Traveler, Scout...” 

“Ignatz.”

She stumbled when she saw him in the stable. “Ignatz?” she said again. 

“O-oh,” he stuttered. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you realized I was here.”

He sat on a stool behind an easel, a paint brush in one hand. A drop of blue pigment dotted his nose. 

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I was just painting,” he said. 

“Oh, one of the horses?” Marianne brightened. Ignatz was a wonderful artist; he would make any of the horses look absolutely lovely with his strong colors and bold strokes. She leaned forward to peer around the easel but he pulled it back.

“Uh... well... not exactly,” he said. Pink rose in his cheeks to contrast the splatter of blue on his nose. He fidgeted with his glasses.

“Well, what then?” Marianne said. She looked around. Perhaps one of her bird friends had been observing from the rafters. There was a particularly beautiful red fellow who liked to sing to her while she tended the horses. If Ignatz was painting him, it would surely be as lovely as a picture of the horses. 

“Well...” Ignatz trailed off.

Marianne looked back down at him, tilting her head to the side. His blush had deepened to the scarlet of roses. “Your paintings are beautiful, Ignatz. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“It's not that... It's just... I...” He gripped his hands tight, finally meeting her eyes, though his face still burned. “I was painting you.”

Marianne stumbled back a step. “M-m-me?” 

Ignatz gulped, nodding. 

Marianne felt pulled forward, tugged by her horrible curiosity. Why would anyone paint her? Especially when there were the horses and birds and even little field mice to paint instead? 

Her breaths stuck in her throat when she moved around the painting, one painful step at a time. 

And there she was in crisp, clear, flowing lines. Her blue dress lay draped over the hay as she reached up to stroke a striking image of Sunbeam. She could see the intricate braids in her own hair, the fringe on her dress, even the slight smile on her lips as she spoke with the horse in this frozen moment. Sunlight streaked across the image, highlighting her face and the silky chestnut of Sunbeam's coat. 

“I'm so sorry,” Ignatz said. “I should have asked. I really did come here to practice painting the horses, but then you came in and you looked so...”

“It's lovely,” Marianne breathed. “Is that really me?”

Ignatz looked up at her from his stool. “Yes,” he said.

“You were too kind,” Marianne said. 

She could see Ignatz's throat bob as he swallowed. “I disagree, Marianne. As an artist, I try to stay absolutely faithful to what I see when I paint a still life. You... you really are that lovely.” 

“Oh.” She clasped her hands over her mouth, feeling her face go as hot as Ignatz's. 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “That was out of line.” 

“No, I...” Goddess, how could she respond? Part of her wished she could jump on the nearest horse and ride away. But another part of her looked at the lovely painting again, feeling that same rush of awe and gratitude as the first time she'd gazed at it. Was this really what Ignatz saw when he looked at her? She couldn't believe it, refused to accept it, but Hilda had once told her, “If people want to see more than what's really there, let 'em. What's the harm?”

“I love it,” Marianne said between her fingers. 

Ignatz smiled, the color in his face finally easing. “I'm so glad. I'd... I'd love to paint you again. With your permission, this time.”

Marianne couldn't manage to respond, so she merely nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	8. Leonie/Linhardt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie tries to build Ikea furniture but she needs Linhardt's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another anon. I got a bit silly with this so I hope it's what you were looking for.

Leonie hammered the pin into place. The wood strained, bending, but at last Pin A was firmly set into Connector B. 

“Good enough is good enough,” she said. 

She turned to the sheets of instructions fanned out across the floor like a pirate's treasure map. Except this map led to an Ikea desk that would probably crumble at the first touch. What the hell was “Turnpin Q” and how would she connect “Pivot F” to it?

Leonie tugged at the orange braid trailing over her shoulder. Seriously, who wrote this stuff?

She shoved the instructions aside. She'd built furniture with her bare hands before and it had been somehow much easier than this Ikea crap. Shaping the wood, measuring each piece, seeing the completed project come together step-by-step: There was real satisfaction in that. Real accomplishment. Not like this mass produced tinker toy plywood.

Leonie appraised the pieces before her. OK, maybe if she turned the shelf this way it could fit inside Attachment P and then she just had to force a few nails through to--

“I can't watch this. I literally can't watch this for another second.” 

She turned to find Linhardt in the door of her dorm room, shaking his head. She'd forgotten just how tall he was, what with him spending most of his time lounging or napping, as far as she could tell. He rolled his eyes at her, arms crossed over his chest.

“I have it under control,” she said.

“Judging from the banging I've had to listen to all morning, I'd say you don't.” 

“What would you know?” Leonie said. 

“Quite a lot, as it so happens,” Linhardt said. He pushed away from the doorway, almost as though he needed the added momentum to propel himself to her. “Merciful gods,” he muttered as he knelt beside her. “How did you even manage this?”

“I--” 

He fixed her with a glare. His eyes, usually dull with sleep, were sharp now, keen as knives. She saw the raw intelligence behind them. The determination that set his face transformed it into something far harder than she'd ever expected. 

“We're going to fix this,” he said. “I can't stand it another moment. Then I'm going to sleep for the rest of the day with none of this damn banging going on. Got that?”

Leonie found herself nodding.

“You're gonna have to be the brute strength,” he said. “But I'll be the brains. Just do as I say, OK?”

“Hey...” she started, but her protest sounded feeble even to her own ears.

“If you'd like to untangle this mess on your own, be my guest,” he said, waving at the jangled pieces of the desk, “but it's going to take a literal physics degree to sort this out.”

“You have a physics degree?”

“Yes,” he said, already studying the pieces.

“Then why are you a freshman at this school?”

He faced her again, raising an eyebrow, scowling as though she'd asked the most boring question in the world. “Turns out, no one wants to hire a high schooler who's smarter than them. So I'm getting another degree. Chemistry.” 

Leonie blinked. Just who _was_ this guy? She knew him just as the dude in the next dorm over, but as he started scribbling over the Ikea instructions, she suspected she was watching a literal rocket scientist at work.

“Get a hammer,” he said after a few minutes. “All those pins are going to have to come out.” 

“O...OK,” she said, and, for some reason, set to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


End file.
